


The Knife To Cut The Shadows

by Thatoneguyyoudidntknowfromtumblr



Series: Shadows [2]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Drug Use, Drunkenness, Implied Relationships, Original Character Death(s), Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 09:09:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4257639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatoneguyyoudidntknowfromtumblr/pseuds/Thatoneguyyoudidntknowfromtumblr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three vorns have passed since the end of the top secret Autobot Striker Project was deemed a failure.  </p><p>One vorn has passed since Jazz found himself working in the Autobot army, originally as a scout.  His abilities have quickly moved him into the Special Operations division, headed up by Axle.  The young black and white mech handles each mission with grace and style, sometimes, due to a bit of a showboat nature, with more style than sense.</p><p>**</p><p>Written originally in 2005, re-written in 2008, part two of my personal Origin Story for Autobot Jazz of the G1 franchise. Looking over it now, this could work for IDW Jazz, too, with a bit of tweaking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In times of war there was still padwork to fill out, reports to write, read and file. The normalcy of the activity was at high contrast to the blackouts, the way a building would randomly shake and shudder if shells hit just the right spot on the planet's surface, no matter how far away the fighting currently happened to be. As a high-ranking tactician, Prowl knew that padwork was essential, even though those around him complained. How else would one be able to devise backup plans if all the details weren't properly filed and close at hand? He worked without comment, his Guardian build settling well to the almost endless stacks of pads which always seemed to find their way to his office. The others took his efforts for granted, not that he minded. This way, at least, he could see to it that the information was organized _properly_ \--

His comm beeped on a priority channel from a security mech identified as Inferno by the readout on his desk. Prowl paused only to finish the sentence he was writing before picking up the call. "This is Prowl."

"Sir, I was checkin' on things in brig three of th' Iacon Proper security cells an' found solitary closed." The mech's soft drawl marked him as having been built in east Kalis, the northern side.

Prowl briefly checked the last fourteen solar cycles of data logs, a frown marring his features when he discovered no entries for any of the solitary units to be used. He and Inferno both knew that unless there was a mech inside, the 'Holes', as the soldiers referred to them, stayed open. "Have you opened the cell?"

"Yessir," Inferno replied, "an' there's a mech down innit. Whole floor's covered in mech fluid, he's damaged so bad. I already called medical 'cause there ain't enough room fer me t'get down in there without him movin'. Mech's got somethin' glowin' down there but he ain't talkin', whoever he is."

"Stay where you are," Prowl said, standing. "I'm on my way." He closed the comm, gathered some blank pads to subspace and transformed, locking the door securely behind him as he left.

Upon arriving at the brig in question, Prowl was concerned, though not surprised, to find the requested medic still hadn't arrived. The more casualties that piled up, the less the medics were able to leave the medical center, even to get back to their own quarters to rest. Even more concerning, however, was the amount of damage the mech down in solitary was being forced to endure. "How long as he been down there?"

Inferno gave a helpless shrug. "I tried t'get to th' access logs while you were comin' but they've been locked with a high security clearance."

"Thank you," Prowl murmured, doing his best to get past the fact that he could see what had to be the damaged mech's spark casing from where he was, thirty vertical strides from where he stood. "We can no longer wait for a medic. I will see if I can get him out."

He dropped down into the pit carefully, making sure not to slip in the mech fluid or step on the inert mech. "Hello?" He asked gently, "can you hear me?"

No response, but the mech's visor was glowing softly. Prowl ventured closer, noticing that beneath the mechfluid, the mech's paint was just about opposite of his own...and why was that combination of horned helm and visor so familiar? He reached to place a gentle hand carefully on the mech's undamaged shoulder. "Hello?"

Before Prowl's fingers could even brush the damaged mech's armor, the mech sprang to his feet and used Prowl's shoulders to vault himself out of the pit, defying all notions of damage preventing movement. He skidded to a stop when Inferno moved between him and the door, dashing to a nearby desk and snatching up several items there to fend the large red mech off.

"Get away!" He rasped, backing to one of the walls and sinking to his knees. "Let me go!"

"Calm down," Prowl said after hauling himself out of the pit, gesturing to Inferno to back off. He unspaced a rag to clear his face of mech fluid before speaking again. "We are not going to hurt you. You need medical attention."

The mech gave a barking laugh. "Right," he mocked. "Right, Axle. That's all you were doin' before. Givin' me medical attention. I ain't fooled, mech. Your hacks're gettin' lazy."

Prowl pulled back, startled. "Axle?" He repeated. "Is that who put you in here?"

"You know full well you put me in there, an' I ain't goin' back." The mech was panting in pain, his intakes working overtime in an attempt to cool systems pushed to their limit by the damage and how he kept attempting to get back to his feet. "I ain't tellin' you what I found, either."

"I think he's hallucinatin', sir," Inferno said quietly over a secure comm.

"Either that or Axle has been torturing him so long that he doesn't know up from down," Prowl replied the same way. The injured mech held one of his improvised weapons in front of him, keeping both mechs in his line of sight. "My name is Prowl," Prowl tried again, moving forward slowly and keeping his hands in view. "You are very badly damaged, you need help."

"In exchange for what I know," the mech told him scornfully. "Well, here's what I think about _that_." He shut his mouth and moments later there was the uncomfortable sound of a mech shutting off his own vocalizer. Inferno winced and Prowl didn't blame him; it _hurt_ to shut off one's vocalizer.

"We do not want any information," Prowl insisted, only to have the mech give him a flat look. Stalemate.

All three mechs started when someone threw the door to the brig open. Prowl turned, opening his mouth to object before he saw the medic's crosses on the boxy white and red mech's shoulders. The medic took in the situation at a glance and a scowl instantly adorned his face. "What'n the smelter's name is goin' on here?" He demanded loudly. "Jazz?"

The black and white visored mech across from Prowl mouthed something before his expression went guarded once again and he brandished his weapon.

"Oh, stop it," the medic snapped, striding forward. "You're a mess! What the slag--" he stopped short when the damaged mech whom he called Jazz drew his arm back as if to throw the object in his hand.

"He is delirious," Prowl supplied. "You know this mech?"

"Yeah," the medic replied distractedly. "I'm Ratchet, he's Jazz. Primus below, mech, stop bein' so stubbo--" Jazz's weapon went sailing at Ratchet's head and the medic ducked.

"He turned his vocalizer off," Prowl supplied, taking a few quick steps back.

"I can see that," Ratchet snapped, causing Prowl to raise an optic ridge at the medic's blatant disregard for things like rank or even common politeness.

"Inferno," Prowl murmured over secure internal comm, "if you would go alert Ironhide of the situation and have him place Axle in one of the other solitary-confinement cells with full dampeners, please."

"Yessir," Inferno replied, snapping to attention before heading out. Jazz's head turned to follow him, but before he could make a bolt for the door, Prowl stepped between it and him.

Ratchet went down on one knee, an action that brought Jazz's skittish attention back to the medic. "Jazz," Ratchet said softly, at complete contrast to how he had been acting moments before, "it's Ratchet. I'm real. Thgirlasti."

At the word, which didn't register in any language that Prowl had in his databases, Jazz relaxed, head lulling as his hands fell to his sides. Ratchet scrambled forward and began lightning fast emergency repairs; Prowl was impressed with both the care and the speed the medic took. Jazz's hands fluttered and Ratchet nodded as if the mech had said something.

"I will," the medic promised. "Just gimme a nano to tie off this line-- there. Go ahead an' recharge. You're safe."


	2. Chapter 2

Something about the young mech startled Prowl, now that the crisis was over and he let his emotions surface to the slight degree he allowed. The wash of familiarity was so intense that though he physically stayed still, he mentally stepped back into a day which he had avoided thinking about for close to three vorn. The fall of the Crystal Gardens of Praxus, only six solar cycles before the Decepticons had returned to raze the rest of the city to the ground, wasn't something that he allowed to surface in his memories if he could help it. Now, however, this mech, this small, unassuming yet chaotic mech with a paint job, at least what he could see of it under the coat of mech fluid, opposite of his own was bringing that memory to the foreground of his processor...

_It had been dark in a way he had not previously experienced. The dim light from his optics hit off of an edge of metal that was too polished to be natural and was lost before striking anything else. Belatedly he processed that the edge was mere centimeters from his optics and he carefully moved his helmet back, a sensation of bitter cold running up his spinal relay at what had almost happened. It was then that he became aware of the absolute silence. There were no explosions, no hisses of laser fire...no voices calling for help, no voices searching for the missing._

_The simple fact that he was alone made it startlingly hard to think. He shifted again, pulling his mind away from the possibility that he may be the only survivor and set it to getting out of the situation he was in; he would process facts and knowledge, not idle speculation, to stay focused. Unable to see a way out of the pocket he instead lifted a fist and began pounding on one of the walls as hard as he could, knowing that while it might bring the Decepticons down on him, it would also help any rescuers know that he was there, and alive._

_His internal chronometer had processed the time so slowly he had been sure it was malfunctioning. There was no other reason as to why the nanoclicks and clicks had taken so long to pass. It had to have been longer than ten clicks before the rubble above him shifted and light stabbed into his optics, forcing him to power them off in protest. The first breath he took caught in his soot-covered intakes and he choked, unable to form a coherent word over the coughing. Only when he had managed to take three breaths without choking did he look up, one hand rising to clear his lips so he could speak coherently, meeting the gaze of the unfamiliar visored mech who had rescued him._

_Expression as taken aback as if he had been struck, the mech melted back into the shadows with a grace Prowl couldn't help but admire, even given the circumstances. However, he could not let his rescuer simply vanish. "Wait--"_

_That one word took the majority of the air he had managed to get into his intakes so he took another, deeper breath, his hand dropping to his chest as if to make his intakes function properly. "Wait, who are you? Did any of the others make it?"_

_Painted in grays and blacks that made it nearly impossible to track him visually and Prowl was disturbed to discover that his sensors were malfunctioning; according to them, the mech in front of him didn't exist. "No--" The tone was reluctant, the word soft._

_"I am Prowl," the black and white mech introduced, trying to make his raw voice as soothing as he could. He kept his gaze on the mech's optics, deducing from his facial structure where they would be despite the visor protecting them._

_"I am Striker 27." The young mech's expression flicked to terror for a reason Prowl couldn't begin to fathom. "They will kill you, if they know you know of me. Forget me."_

_The tactician's features folded into a frown. They? They who? "You just saved my life; I can not simply forget you."_

_"You have to," Striker implored, taking another step back. "Please. I am not supposed to be here. Forget me."_

_"You are not making sense--"_

_"I know. I am sorry. I have to go."_

With that, he had vanished. Seemingly moments later a rescue crew had arrived and told him that though he was the only one whom had survived the attack on the Gardens, the rest of the city was relatively intact. Prowl hadn't mentioned his rescuer, instead reporting falsely, for the first time in his life, that he had dug himself out after the building's collapse. He was in such a state of disrepair that no one questioned it.

He tossed an absent scan over the damaged mech and almost physically jumped when the results were intermittent and garbled. It was the same kind of result he had gotten from scanning the mech three vorn back in Praxus, if this was the same mech. Only now, instead of thinking his own scanners were malfunctioning, he realized it was the mech's armor which was turning him into a sensor shadow. The effect was compromised now because the mech's armor was breached.

"How long has this mech been calling himself Jazz?" He asked, accessing Ratchet's service record to see if he needed to find a more senior medic to take over the case, despite the white and red mech's apparent skill. The file was filled with opposing notes; apparently he either infuriated those he worked with due to his lack of tact or greatly impressed them with his knowledge and ability.

"What the slag do you mean by that?" Ratchet demanded, not looking up from the repair work. "Mech's always been Jazz, ever since I met him three vorn ago. As soon as I'm done with this weld I need you to load him into my bay so I can get him to the medical center. Crazy fragger--"

"Three vorn? Before or after the fall of the Crystal Gardens?"

"After, by about a stellar cycle. I don't have time to talk about this now." The medic transformed and opened his bay, obviously implying Prowl to help load the damaged Jazz. "Get him in and follow me to the Medical Center. We'll talk once he's been repaired and is resting."


	3. Chapter 3

"Got'cher report," Ironhide said, striding into Ratchet's office. Prowl nodded to acknowledge him, not taking his gaze from the closed-circuit feed the security camera in Ratchet's repair bay was providing. "Was short, for you. What's goin' on?"

"Do you know that mech?" Prowl asked, indicating the monitor. Ironhide frowned and approached, carefully locking the office door behind him when he saw a signal-jammer glowing on the desk.

"Which one, Ratchet or the mech he's workin' on?"

"His patient."

Ironhide leaned in closer to take a good look at the screen. "Looks familiar, but can't say I know 'im...from what I can see. Ask me again when he ain't one foot in the smelter."

"He goes by Jazz," Prowl murmured, moving to Ratchet's terminal and plugging himself in. "He was found earlier by one of your mechs...Inferno. There is a Security lock on the video surveillance of the solitary confinement cell he was being kept in."

"I didn't think he was in such bad shape from the report you sent," Ironhide stated, a scowl on his worn features. "Whose sig is on the lock?"

"He was worse, before Ratchet got to him." Prowl kept typing, even as he spoke. "And there is no signature glyph on the lock. At least not one I can access. This young mech seems to have gotten onto someone's bad side and I want to know who."

"Me too," Ironhide agreed in a growl, crossing to stand behind Prowl, watching the attempts to access the security logs. "That's no Security lock I've ever seen."

"It is Special Operations," Prowl mused, beginning to frown. "Disguised as a Security lock."

"Git a guard on him," Ironhide stated, optics narrowed. "If Axle's people did this, even if Ratch does manage t'save 'im, he won't stay alive long if left alone."

"Agreed." Prowl brought up several different windows on the terminal after securing the data tunnel he was using to patch into his own workstation. "The twins are on punishment detail?"

"You don't sound surprised," Ironhide returned, never taking his optics from the surveillance feed.

"That is because I am not. I want them on this."

"Do they like him?"

"He has apparently defended them on occasion from getting punishment detail."

"They like him," Ironhide agreed, shaking his head slightly.

"What do you know about a Striker Project?"

Prowl suddenly felt Ironhide's intent gaze focused on him, instead of the monitor. "How d'you know 'bout that, youngmech?" The Security director's voice was quiet and hard.

"Jazz's service record starts about two and a half vorn ago," Prowl replied, as if changing the subject. "Ratchet stated he met him half a vorn before that and he was calling himself Jazz, then, too."

"Wait a nano," Ironhide said, "why d'you keep sayin' 'callin' himself'? You implyin' that he ain't who he says he is?"

"I met him during the fall of the Crystal Gardens," Prowl said quietly, his fingers finally falling still. "He dug me out from under the building which had collapsed around me. He called himself Striker 2727."

The older mech's gaze returned to the monitor, his expression part way between curious and dark. "Don't try diggin' in the files for the Striker Project," he said at last, after glancing over at the signal jammer. "The security mech who tried was nearly offlined by a virus before we got him out of the data stream. He was never really _right_ after that, either."

"So you know what the project was?"

"Assassin drones, programmed with everythin' Axle knows 'bout black ops t'do one thing. Kill Megatron. We pulled one scientist out of the pile after everyone scattered t'the winds...or was killed. Toxins, mostly."

"Drones?" Prowl shook his head. "That mech is no drone."

"Ratchet'd agree with ya, I'm sure." He paused, frowning. "Lock never did tell us why the count came up one short."

"Lock?" Prowl asked, again working at the terminal.

"The scientist we pulled out. Near dead when we found 'im...somethin'd been done to his tanks so he couldn't process energon."

The tactician allowed himself a very slight wince. "Did he survive?"

"Took a couple of bright young sparks t'pull him through." Ironhide paused, watching Ratchet work.

"Jazz's medical scans do not indicate he was ever without a spark," Prowl murmured, studying the screens intently.

"Medical scans are confidential," Ironhide rumbled, frowning.

"Unless the mech in question is under investigation and this mech may be part of something much, much larger."

"You're startin' t'sound like Red Alert."

Prowl glanced up only briefly. "Paranoia is only deemed as such when the mech with the theory is wrong." He rose, shutting down the terminal and leaving no trace he had ever used it. "And I am never wrong."


	4. Chapter 4

"I was wondering when you were going to show up again," Ratchet growled, his tone harsh with exhaustion. Prowl simply regarded him, expression entirely neutral. "The monsters outside the door said you told them to be there. I thought they were on punishment detail."

"I pulled them from it," Prowl finally replied, shifting his gaze to Jazz's prone form. From the medical readouts on the monitors surrounding him, he could tell the mech was still alive, though little else. "I want to know when you met this mech and what he called himself when you did."

"Hey." The medic straitened, his shoulders squaring and his expression hardening even further. "First off, the Twins didn't deserve to be on that punishment detail--"

"They are not the subject of this conversation--"

"Shut the frag up and listen to me!"

Prowl regarded the medic with a cool gaze. "You are very close to insubordination."

"Then throw me in the brig; it'd be good to get some undisturbed time t'recharge," Ratchet snapped back. "But I've got information you need and this mech won't survive without my care so you're gonna listen to me. Before I tell you anything I want your word you'll look into the report on the reason why the Twins were on punishment."

"Fine," Prowl murmured, pulling out a pad to log into the security net, absently checking the date the two mechs had been placed on the detail and the reason why. He traced his way through the security logs, frowning when he kept getting rerouted away from the information he wanted. While Prowl worked, Ratchet returned to Jazz's repairs, absently sipping some low-grade as he did. "Who put them on punishment?"

The medic turned, his expression startled. "You were actually looking into it?"

The question startled Prowl as much as his question had evidently startled the medic. "Yes."

Ratchet's optics narrowed in suspicion. "No one cares about those two. Everyone seems to ignore the multiple warnings not to separate them I've put on their file-- which is why they keep getting in trouble when they refuse--"

"Answer the question, please," Prowl interrupted, his expression betraying the slight irritation the medic's rants were beginning to install in him.

"Head of engineering, Breaker. That's another thing-- that fragger's got his mechs working while on medical leave." Ratchet made a frustrated gesture in the direction of the engineering building. "I've reported it hundreds of times."

"I never received any such reports..."

"Didn't think so." Ratchet unspaced a pad and tossed it more at Prowl than to him, even though the tactician caught it without effort. "There's every single one, timestamped, read-only. After the first few times of nothin' happening, I started t'save 'em."

Pursuing the information on the pad, Prowl frowned when he noted the dates were becoming closer and closer together, until instead of once a stellar cycle or so, it was now happening once a solar cycle. "This may all be connected. I want the Twins kept where they are, unless you hear from me personally. No one is to override that, particularly not Axle, Breaker or any security personnel save Ironhide." Prowl finished making his notes before looking back at Ratchet, optics slightly narrowed. "Breaker and Axle are connected in this and I believe Axle was the one to put, ah, Jazz, in solitary confinement around the same time Breaker put the twins on punishment. When Inferno and myself got him out, he thought I was Axle and refused to tell me something."

"Axle hates him," Ratchet sighed. "I've tried to convince the mech to get outta special ops for as long as he's been in the army-- into scouting or some other branch. But he won't leave. He's stuck on bein' a' agent...the one argument he comes back to is that he's _good_ at it-- an' he's right. He's damn good. I don't know the details of any of the jobs he takes but he always comes back in relatively one piece and having completed the objective, even on the suicidal missions Axle gives him, which are about ninety percent of the jobs he gets."

"He called himself something other than Jazz when I met him the first time," Prowl murmured, raising an optic ridge at the surprise on the medic's face, but not commenting otherwise. "Which could explain why Axel is so smelter-bent on killing him in a way that looks inconspicuous, if my theory is correct."

"There's nothing inconspicuous in what happened here," Ratchet growled.

"Agreed. If he had continued instead of leaving Jazz in solitary, we never would have known. That block was listed as being off-limits for maintenance until two solars ago."

"Jazz found something out that Axle doesn't want known." The medic smirked. "I guess Axle under-estimated how stubborn the sorry fragger can be."

"Which is exactly why I posted the guards," Prowl replied, "the Twins are unconventional but the best at what they do. And they can be trusted explicitly to protect him. Now." He leveled the medic with a look. "I want to know when you met this mech and what he called himself when you did."

"Met him three vorn ago, lowtown Iacon. He came from midtown Tyrest." The medic snorted softly, though the sound was more amused than aggravated. "He mugged me."

Prowl's gaze shot to the medic. "He _what_?"

"He stole my energon. It was my own fault and at that point, I still had acid burns in my fuel tanks, so he really did me a favor." Ratchet shook his head. "I was on a street in low-town Iacon. He mugged me and then came back to help me get to a friend's house because the salvagers were making a sweep."

"Low-town...there was a security alert from low-town around that time."

"Urgh, don't remind me." Prowl looked up, half way through querying the archives to give the medic a questioning look. "Yeah, I was called in for that one. A whole building, about seven, eight floors, of assassin style murder. A lot of the medics couldn't stay in there for long before purgin' their tanks."

"According to the security reports it caused a lot of mechs to abandon the city and travel to Iacon."

"You're surprised?"

"No." Prowl frowned, tallying what he could find of Jazz's service record with the facts he had gathered so far. "I need to research this farther, comm me when he wakes."

"I wouldn't go reporting this just yet--"

"I report when I have something to report," Prowl replied, meeting Ratchet's gaze. "Not before." They watched each other, both looking for something in the mech watching them. Finding it, they both nodded and Prowl turned, exiting the room on silent strides.


	5. Chapter 5

"Prowl."

The single word woke the tactician from a sound, yet unintended, recharge. He straitened, momentarily thankful for the fact that his comm did not allow video conversations unless he initiated the call. He made sure the static recharge typically installed into his vocalizer was gone before answering.

"This is Prowl."

"It's Ratchet. Your mechlet's awake."

"He is hardly mine, but thank you." Prowl rose, carefully shutting down and locking his office. "I will be there momentarily."

"You need to get more recharge," was Ratchet's comment when Prowl stepped past the twins into the ICU room Jazz had been moved to.

"Hypocrite," the young mech on the recharge berth muttered, his visor dark. Prowl watched them both impassively while Ratchet gave Jazz a look, which Jazz obviously knew had been coming, from the light smirk on his face.

"Shut it, you."

Noting that the banter should probably be stopped before it got out of hand, Prowl cleared a slight bit of static from his vocalizer before speaking. "Hello," he greeted Jazz when the younger mech's visor finally lit. "I am glad to see you looking better. How are you feeling?"

When he was rewarded with a blank look, Prowl's gaze shifted to Ratchet. "Painkillers?"

The medic smirked. "Enough t'drop a sharkticon, thanks to his rather unique physiology. Sedatives cause a cascade failure so it's painkillers and stasis or nothing, with him."

The tactician's expression darkened. "You said he was coherent."

"No, I said he was awake, which is what you asked for." Ratchet turned to regard his patient, who grinned back at him. "I don't think his memory centers were recording, earlier. I doubt he remembers you at all."

"He doesn't," Jazz told them, still grinning. "But he's coherent now, despite what Ratchet might think. He's also feelin' fine, thanks."

"In that case," Prowl said without missing a beat, "my name is Prowl, second in the Tactician core. I need to know why Axle had you in solitary."

The moment Prowl mentioned his superior officer's name, the agent's expression went blankly innocent. "I haven't the faintest--"

"Jazz," Ratchet said warningly, "no dancing. This mech's legit. I checked."

"Eruseruoy?" Jazz asked, causing Prowl's language analyzer to run an error. Medic and patient seemed to have a check and balance system worked out, which made complete sense to Prowl, considering Jazz's form of work. Agents didn't last long unless they had some way of knowing those around them were safe.

"Yeah, you crazy fragger," Ratchet sighed. "I am. He's solid."

"If I'm a crazy fragger you're created of a tunnel drone," Jazz shot back. Prowl suppressed a sigh; if this was Jazz high, one wondered what he was like sober. "He's been bought out."

This instantly returned Prowl's mind to complete focus. "Excuse me?"

"Axle's a mercenary, always has been." The black and white mech snorted. "You Autobots've always been so secure in that you're doin' the moral right or whatever that you don't _think_. Just 'cause you, Prowl, think you can't be purchased don't mean others can't be, or ain't willin' t'sell out if the chips are good. Smelter, I can count on one hand the mechs I know who wouldn't sell others out for some energon an' a safe place t'sleep if their lives were in danger." He paused, gazing at Prowl thoughtfully. "Maybe I've found one more. But that don't matter. What matters is that Axle's a merc an' he's been purchased. By someone not Sentinel Prime."

"And you have proof of this?" Prowl wanted to know, the fact that Axle was no where to be found becoming more and more concerning. He tried to open an encrypted internal comm to Ironhide but winced when he slammed into a signal jammer of intense power.

"Who'd you try t'comm?"

The tactician focused on Jazz with a frown. "That jamming field is yours?"

"Damn slaggin' straight. I don't want him knowin' I'm alive an' I don't want him listenin' in on this conversation." Jazz gave Ratchet a wounded look. "You said he was smart."

"I said he seemed to be smart," Ratchet replied mildly, smirking. Moments later the smirk flashed into a scowl, Jazz forcing the medic to shove the agent back onto the berth by attempting to rise. "If you break those welds--"

"I ain't stayin' here with the sign out front sayin' ' _Jazz is here for the killin', Twins bonus prize_ '," Jazz snapped, though he did lay back, his visor going dark briefly. Prowl realized it was the first time Jazz had indicated he was in any kind of pain. He found himself intrigued by the strange mech, just as he had been in Praxus.

"I tried to comm Ironhide," he said, shifting their attention from each other to him.

"Maybe you were right about the smart thing," Jazz commented to Ratchet, who turned his gaze to the floor as if asking Primus for patience.

"His intelligence, probably. Yours--"

"I may be crazy but I ain't stupid."

"I should sedate you and be done with it."

"Please don't," Jazz and Prowl said together, which caused a smirk to light Jazz's face again. The agent seemingly ignored the tactician's questioning look, something Prowl was beginning to find slightly irritating.

"I won't," Ratchet relented, "but I should."

"Ironhide is a true mech," Jazz said to Prowl, his visor beginning to dim. "I don't mind if he knows about this."

"Very gracious of you," Prowl replied before he could stop himself. The snark earned him amused looks from both medic and agent, which he himself ignored. _Ah, so that is why Jazz does it_.

"Axle's got mechs everywhere in the system-- even in the security core." Jazz regarded Prowl calmly, his expression still a touch groggy but more coherent than it had been when the tactician had walked into the room. "You heard about that mech, Red Alert, how he was torn up and left t'leak out in front of the gates? Only no one could figure who'd done it?"

"That is a strong accusation to make," Prowl said quietly, his expression entirely serious. "Particularly without evidence."

"Maybe the evidence is right in front of your optics but you've just accepted it as the norm," Jazz told him. "Ratchet's medics workin' without breaks. The engineers workin' damaged. Security mechs bein' led 'round in circles." He settled back, visor going dark. "I ain't gonna hand you the energon. You're tactician second, you find it."

Ratchet sighed, shaking his head and reaching to adjust one of the drips going to the mech's arm. "Stop bein' so cranky, Jazz. He's on your side."

"Ain't anyone on my side 'sept you an' the Twins. An' if it weren't them out there, I'd be gone already--"

"Gone _dead_ ," the medic grumbled. "Those welds--"

"You're the best, Ratch. They'd hold."

"To get back on subject," Prowl murmured, silencing them both. "Why would you be 'gone already', Jazz?"

"Because Axle's gonna know I'm here with that ' _please shoot me_ ' sign out front," Jazz sighed. "An' at this point he'll know I talked t'you an' you talked t'Ironhide, which means I should put as much distance between myself an' anyone who can't handle Axle as possible. I'm thinkin' Kaon."

"You don't think I can handle that fragger?" Ratchet asked, scowling.

"No, I really don't," Jazz told him. "You've got some moves, for a medic, but he's like me. We fight dirty. It's my job to keep you an' everyone outta harms way by keepin' this big ol' target painted on my aft away from collateral damage."

"Logical," Prowl commented quietly. "But only to a point. We need you alive and we need you close."

"An' Axle knows that," Jazz agreed. "Which means I gotta vanish so he'll spend less time plannin' how t'hurt me an' mine an' more time huntin' me out, givin' you a chance t'do your own huntin'."

"Again, logical," Prowl murmured. "In a way. But the logic is flawed in one detail. If he, like you said, is like you, his processor will follow the same thought process."

Jazz frowned, his expression going thoughtful. Ratchet immediately leveled a scowl in Prowl's direction. "Thanks," the medic snapped, "now I gotta watch him every cycle of the solar or he'll bolt."

"Not necessarily," Prowl replied, "if Axle thinks he will, then he should stay here."

"He'll think about it," Jazz said, his visor going dark. Ratchet stared at him in disbelief.

"Who are you and what have you done with Jazz?" He demanded, pulling a chuckle from the saboteur. "First you're straight with a mech faster than anythin' I've ever seen and now you're thinking about taking orders? I think I better run a scan of your processor; sounds like it's cracked."

"It ain't cracked," Jazz murmured. "I like him. He takes me seriously...and he's handsome."

Both Ratchet and Prowl stared at his still form for a good five nano clicks before Ratchet checked one of the monitors, obviously doing his best to keep a straight face. "He's out cold," he announced.

"How much of that was accurate?" Prowl asked, his brow pinching. "These accusations are far too serious to be based on the ramblings of a mech too high on painkillers to see straight."

"I honestly don't know," Ratchet replied. "I'd say everything about Axle and the fact that he's been bought. Other than that...it's anyone's guess. Jazz is like this on a regular basis, only without..." he trailed off, then shook his head with a grin. "Okay, I can't say that because he flirts with everyone. So I think I'll just say that he knew exactly what he was saying the whole time."

"Right," Prowl replied, narrowing his optics slightly at the visored mech recharging on the repair bench. "What will you do with him?"

"Do with him?" Ratchet asked, grinning. "I think I should be asking you that. I'm gonna try to get him to rest as much as I can. Which is like telling fire not to burn. After that, he's your problem. He thinks you're handsome, after all."

"Yes, that," Prowl said, frowning slightly. "Well, hopefully _that_ was the painkillers talking."

"Maybe so, maybe not," Ratchet replied, expression wickedly amused. "Go to quarters, get some rest, in any case. Your systems are reading undercharged."

"Thank you, Ratchet," Prowl said, turning for the door-- and escape. 


	6. Chapter 6

"Primus fraggit--"

Prowl's optics flicked online, his recharge-fogged processor not yet supplying a name to the voice he was hearing.

"Prowl! Primus take you, wake up!"

 _That could only be Ratchet_ , he thought, sitting up as his voice recognition software finally kicked in and did identify the growling tones as the right-hand mech of the Autobot CMO. "Yes, Ratchet?"

"I've got a pair of groggy twins and no Jazz. Get'cher--"

"I am on my way," Prowl interrupted, already locking the door to his quarters behind him. He paused only to retrieve some mid-grade on his way to the Medical Center, standing in the door and silently watching Ratchet attempt to pry something very carefully from Sunstreaker's temple. Sideswipe was laid out near by and the only route to the medic's side was between them so Prowl, not wanting to risk an uncertain response from either twin, remained where he was.

"In or out," Ratchet snapped, "just stop hovering!"

"What happened?" The tactician asked, stepping just far enough into the room to let the door close.

"Ask them," the medic growled, jerking his hand back when Sunstreaker grimaced. "Easy," he murmured, his gentle tone at sharp contrast to how he had spoken to Prowl. "I've almost got it. Just relax."

"Heard 'im hummin'," Sideswipe mumbled, optics dark and one hand gripping the side of the repair bench he was laying on. "Sounded a lot closer'n it shoulda been."

"Turned t'look," came Sunstreaker's darker tones, as if he had been speaking all along, "he was still layin' on the berth, so we figured it was some kinda trick of the room. Turned back an' he was standin' in front of us."

"Never even saw him move," Sideswipe continued. "He smiled'n said 'thanks, sorry, have a nice nap', reached out and touched," the red twin's ebony hand reached up to brush his temple, where a device identical to the one Ratchet was still working to remove from Sunstreaker was fixed.

"And then Ratch was standin' over us," Sunstreaker concluded.

"The fragger was either usin' holo tech or Axle's gott'im," Ratchet growled, finally prying the round, small disk off the golden twin's temple and dropping it into a box container. "Don't get it stuck on you," the medic advised, handing the box to Prowl on his way to work on Sideswipe.

"I do not think Axle would have apologized," Prowl murmured, examining the device as carefully as he could without touching it. "So for now I will operate on the assumption that Jazz did this. What were the welds you were concerned for?"

"Oh, nothing important," Ratchet said, concentrating on the mech under his hands. "Just the leads to his spark case and processor--" the medic grunted, prying the second device off of Sideswipe and carrying it over to drop into the box with the first. "So you can understand my concern."

"I can," Prowl said, frowning sharply. "And due to the fragility of the situation I must search for him myself. Please make sure these get to Ironhide directly."

"I will," the medic agreed, retrieving the box and sealing it shut. "Now get going."

"Be careful with your attitude," Prowl warned him, finally growing close to the end of his tolerance for the medic's antics. "Were the situation less dire I would have you in the brig for insubordination."

"I've heard that before," Ratchet told him with a smirk. "Not once has anyone followed through on it. I'm a medic. You can't afford to have me anywhere but here, workin' my hands to cramps."

"You are a member of this army and as such--"

"Blow it out your aft, Prowl. I'm not here by choice and I'm not about to act like it!"

"Ratchet." Prowl heard his voice go icily quiet but for once didn't censor himself. "You are a member of this army by choice or otherwise. Your status as a medic and the right hand of the CMO will not keep you out of the energon mines if you continue to disregard rules of conduct. Nor will it keep you safe from the temper of Sentinel Prime."

"Sentinel Prime can--"

Their optics met, Prowl's disapproving stare silencing the medic, for once. "Yes?" He asked, watching Ratchet weigh whether taking a shot at the commander was worth the punishment which would result.

"Fine," the medic muttered finally, though the tactician could finally see a touch of respect in his gaze.

P _erhaps I can keep him safe from Sentinel's ire after all. He is too good a medic to lose to stupidity._ "Good." Prowl gave a brisk nod. "I will comm when I've found Jazz. As I requested before, please make sure Ironhide gets those, either from yourself or one of the twins."

With that the tactician turned, catching the awestruck expressions on the twins' faces out of the corner of his optic as he walked out. The solar before he had noticed others making comments in Ratchet's service record about his attitude and that nothing had been done about it. He knew why; the medic had a harsh vocalizer and the other officers didn't want to get on his bad side...or they were waiting for him to cross the Prime and get sent to the mines.

 _Now_ , he thought, slipping into a security office and setting up a jamming field, _to find out which direction Jazz disappeared into_.

***

"Hey."

Jazz lifted his head to regard the barkeep tiredly. "Hm?"

"We'll be opening soon. You should probably get moving, unless you want to deal with the usual crowd."

"Already?" Jazz straitened, picking up the mug of energon he had been staring at for the last mega-cycle and tossed it back, grimicing when the mid-grade burned all the way down. "Primus. Lost track of time."

"Yeah. You better call that medic friend of yours; you look worse then usual," the barkeep told him, frowning.

"Already been," Jazz said with a chuckle, standing. "Take care of yourself an' thanks for lettin' me take up a stool for the last bit."

"Any time, mechlet," the cream mech with silver trim replied, smiling. Jazz paused, one hand on the door.

"Are you ever gonna stop callin' me that?" He asked.

"Add a few digits to your age and I'll think about it," the mech said with a laugh.

Casually glancing out the door before pushing it open, Jazz's sensors tracked some movement which caused him to freeze, his processor clicking into survival mode. He bolted to the bar, vaulting over and pulling his friend into the back room.

"What?"

"Where's that oil slick 'tender you don't like so much?" Jazz asked quietly.

"Upstairs. Why?" The mech only objected verbally; he had known Jazz long enough to trust his sensors for trouble, which Jazz appreciated.

"Call 'im an' get him in the front. Have him open up tonight. I just saw some security mechs idlin' around like they was gonna bolt in here just after openin'. Might be after me since I skipped--"

"But you came in the back way and they might not be," the barkeep agreed grimly. In short order they were down the road, the bar being kept by the third mech, whom they hadn't warned or told they were leaving.

"We'd better part here," Jazz murmured, pausing on a street corner. The cream and silver mech nodded.

"Highgate was right about you," he said, offering Jazz his hand. "You're a good spark. He was lucky you were walking by that solar."

Jazz took the offered hand, pressing a cred stick against the mech's palm. "Others wouldn't agree," he said with a smile. "Take it. Get outta Iacon. Ain't a place for mechs like you anymore. Try Polyhex."

"I--"

"Don't," Jazz interrupted, turning their hands so when he let go, the other mech was left holding the cred stick. Sliding into a transformation, the young mech disappeared into the traffic heading deeper into lowtown.

Once he had put enough distance between himself and the security mechs he pulled over, sinking into a sit along the side of the road to rest, visor dark. A scatter sensor field deployed as soon as his optics shut off, something he had set in place the first time he had passed out from exhaustion during a mission. Seven breems later when the blade held by a desperate mech pressed against his neck from behind, he was ready for it, sacrificing a cut along his palm to snatch the blade from the other mech's hands.

A glance behind him revealed the mech was beyond reasoning; lack of energon or some sort of chem or both had turned his optics a dull, sickly purple without any real sentience. All Jazz could do was make his strikes sure and quick--

The mech dodged faster than Jazz had estimated he would be able to, _or maybe I'm just not movin' as fast as I should be_. The result was the same; the mech got him into position to tackle him, sending them both sprawling. Attempting to kickflip to his feet flattened Jazz further with such a sharp pain in his chest he looked down to see if he had been shot. Not seeing any external damage he rolled to his feet, coming up just in time to catch another rush from his opponent. They slammed against a nearby building, Jazz's helmet cracking sharply against the metal wall.

 _Always gotta be gettin' into trouble_ , part of Jazz's mind sighed, the rest of him flicking on circuits and off pain receptors until his body began to respond in a useful fashion. _Main pain receptors offline. Reroute motion control through secondary systems. Bypass malfunctioning power relays. There!_

Finally able to concentrate past the fog which had been clouding his processor, Jazz spun away from the crazed blows of the other mech, catching one of his wrists to twist up behind him. Knowing from the other mech's expression, optics and movements that ordinary measures wouldn't suffice, Jazz slipped a length of thick cabling from his subspace pocket and lashed the mech's wrists together before pushing him against the building he had thrown Jazz against moments before.

"Stop strugglin'!" he barked. The mech continued to struggle, so Jazz reached to slam his helm against the wall, attempting to jar him out of the craze he was in. When the mech didn't respond, Jazz shook his own head and, grabbing the bound mech's wrists with one hand, pulling a hyposyringe out of his subspace pocket with the other, jamming it into the mech's neck. It hissed, the hammer forcing the heavy sedative into his systems-- the mech dropped.

Panting, Jazz stared down at the mech for a breem before pushing himself to move, reaching down to drag him over his shoulders and heading for the nearest Autobot medical station. He was gone before the medics knew he was there, pausing in a nearby building only long enough to make sure the mech was found before moving on, not looking back.


	7. Chapter 7

Sweeping his gaze over the seven screens which were currently streaming live security feeds displayed in front of him, Prowl's processor came to the conclusion it had several times previously. Ratchet, attitude aside, had been right about Jazz; the mech was _very_ good. Good enough that so far he had managed to elude Prowl's attempts to track him. However, that simply meant that there were two options still available to Prowl. Three, really, but the tactical officer refused to admit that the visiored black and white mech might just have eluded him completely so refused to give up the search.

Logic then dictated that he could either shift his attention to searching for Axle on the theory that one would find Jazz where one found Axle or leave the safety of the security feeds behind and go personally into Lowtown Iacon on foot.

He had already interviewed Jazz's current room mate-- an engineer named Wheeljack. The mech had been surprisingly resistant to Prowl's questioning and protective of his room mate despite the extremely odd hours the mech had to keep, not to mention when he would return to quarters with Primus knew what running in his systems. Prowl wasn't fool enough to believe that Jazz was clean; all agents used some sort of chemistry, even if it was simply only when they needed to get in with those they were targeting. Unlike Ratchet, though, the engineer had been respectful of Prowl's position in the ranks and had _politely_ refused to give any information on where Jazz might or might not be at the moment.

What was it about the sparkling which prompted such protective responses from those around him? The mech was hardly innocent, which the mechs who protected him admitted, even if it was reluctantly. Wheeljack, Ratchet, the twins, a communications officer named Blaster-- all mechs Prowl hadn't expected to know each other, much less all be friends with the little black and white visored mech the tactician was beginning to find fascinating. Well, one thing was abundantly clear. He wasn't going to find Jazz in the surveillance reports or feeds. And continuing to interview his friends would only serve to tip him that Prowl was on his trail, scattered as it may be, and drive him farther into hiding.

He departed his office, spending a brief time in the washrack to rough his paint; glistening paint jobs were seldom seen where he was going, no matter his preference to how his paint was kept. Once he had placed himself on leave he left Autobase Iacon for Lowtown.

**

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure, mech. I know what you think but he didn't act like he'd been purchased."

Jazz gazed out over midtown from where he was perched on the top level of a construction which had been abandoned once the war had worsened. Normally Blaster found a way to rhyme, but Jazz had chosen the language they were currently conversing in so the Host wouldn't be able to. He found it amusing-- but this wasn't a time for amusement and the distraction it brought. In some of their conversations Jazz would pointedly find words to end his sentences with so the Host would have a hard time rhyming them. It drew out the conversations and got them off topic. He could see the communications tower Blaster was broadcasting from, which was what made the ultrasecure line-of-sight frequency they were using possible. he imagined he could see Blaster plying his trade--

"Jazz?"

"Sorry. Must've zoned." Jazz scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'm here. Say again?"

"He seemed genuinely concerned...and so am I. You sure boltin' from the med bay was such a swift action?"

"No choice. The mechlets were there an' I wasn't about t'have Axle bomb the place-- you know he ignores collateral."

"I do. You turnin' tricks or stayin' clean?"

"Clean, so far. If things get worse I might have to chem it up to stay alert. If Axle finds me we're all fragged."

"Don't, Jazz, not even Prowl knows where you are, how can Axle--"

"Silenzio," Jazz muttered, causing Blaster to sigh. "This's a solo break, Blaster."

"Your whole life is a solo break," the communications officer shot back. "Make it a soli and we won't tremolo on you so hard. We care."

"I'll surface again." With a bit of a wince Jazz pulled the receiver from his horn, gazing out back toward the one place he currently _wanted_ to be in Hightown. But the danger hadn't passed so he moved on, stopping only to patch the weld which had come loose in one shoulder.

**

"You are positive?" Prowl asked, staring intently at the small mech-- barely the height of his waist-- standing before where he was on one knee in an alley. It was the type of place he had never processed he might ever visit.

"Sure 'm sure, Blaster sent me t'find you," the minibot told him. "Wasn't half a megacycle ago. He don't trust the waves. The big mech's feelers're all over 'em and you don't got line-of-sight."

"So he was in Midtown," Prowl repeated after wading through the jargon of the report, causing the small mech to nod.

"He sounded bad. And just a warning, he thinks you're poisoned, so he don't trust you."

"He thinks I am what?"

"Compromised. Bought. Turned. Flipped--"

"I understand, thank you," Prowl murmured, halting the thesaurus coming from the minibot's vocalizer. "But why?"

"'Cause you're chasing him so hard." The smaller mech smiled. "He didn't 'spect to be chased by a clean mech and definitely not by you. Not on foot."

That did present a problem; if Jazz now thought he was compromised, it would be that much more difficult to catch up with him. "Does Blaster know where he was headed?" He asked, suppressing a sigh.

"Nuh uh, not for sure. South." The small blue mech shrugged before turning to vanish into the street.

Prowl stood with a frown, continuing on his way. The small mech's last word could have meant several things ranging from Jazz's next destination to his condition, physically or mentally. Still, the word was the only lead Prowl had and he made a mental note to thank Blaster once he found Jazz-- as it was only a matter of time until he found him. Jazz had recently been in Midtown and was heading south, if Rewind's report was to be taken literally. Unfortunately 'south' could include the entire planet, considering where Iacon sat on the north axis point--

Or could the word mean something entirely less complex? Something Wheeljack had said absently suddenly came to mind about where he had recently not seen Jazz. Perhaps the engineer had been helping Prowl after all? There was a line which divided Midtown and Lowtown and this ran through Iacon's southern most quarter. Only one building sat across the line and it was directly south from the construction project Jazz had used to call Blaster. Maybe the minibot had been attempting to lead Prowl astray or maybe Jazz's friends had more to them than at first glance, just as the visored black and white mech did. Transforming, Prowl eased into traffic and began a course across town toward the hole-in-the-wall bar he had heard of but had never been to.

**

"C'mon. I'll pay for your chips, and drinks, too."

Jazz leaned away from the club owner, regretting the choice to come to this particular establishment even more now than when he had walked through the door. "Mech, can't you see I ain't in any shape t'be showin'?" he asked, mood worn thin by the pounding cranial ache. "I'm in here for silicon'n mid-grade an' that's it. An' I only came here 'cause yours is clean."

The stocky mech beamed at the compliment-- momentarily-- before getting back to business. "Thank you, thank you, but I am in a bind! My entertainment has canceled." Speck, an ironic name for such a large mech, twisted his hands together, though he was careful not to mar their pristine cleanliness. Appearances must be kept, after all. "I do appreciate everything you have done...all the clients you have sent...the business...but I must ask. What with the price of energon and more and more mechs asking for dirty chips...I don't know what I am going to do."

Taking a long swallow of the silicon-laden mid-grade he had ordered, Jazz shook his head slightly. "I gotta refuse. I'm sorry. I ain't--"

"You can use the washrack in the talent room and whatever chemistry you find there, free of charge." Speck twisted his hands again, then met Jazz's tired gaze. "And all your chem and energon from this point on are free."

This stopped Jazz short. "Serious?" He asked, wanting to make sure he had heard correctly. If he could have a resource like that, free of charge, it would far outweigh the risks of performing for a megacycle or so, even if it did bring Axle down on the club. He pulled out a contract pad to see if it would intimidate the bulky mech into backing down.

"Yes, yes yes, give it here." Speck grabbed the pad, wrote down what he had said and signed it. Never one to turn away a good trick, Jazz quickly read and dated it before adding his own formal signature glyph. Deal sealed, he slipped into the back room, repairing himself the best he could before a decent run through the washrack which did much toward improving his mood. Noticing he had about a breem before heading on stage he quickly went through the room, pulling apart the various hiding places in search of whatever chemistry had been stashed by both the owner and the most recent occupant of the room. It left the room a mess but he didn't care at the moment, brewing a mix of his own carefully into a ration of mid-grade, adding silicon until it stopped dissolving.

"...I'm gonna regret this in a few megacycles," he muttered, eying the violent orange color the usually purple mid-grade had turned thanks to his additions. Most of the ingredients, okay, all of them save the silicon and mid-grade were less than legal for very good reasons individually much less combined. He took a deep breath and downed the mix in several gulps, shuddering hard when his systems gave a shriek of protest at the abrupt addition of several chemicals a mech was never meant to imbibe to his fuel tanks. Gritting his jaw, Jazz waited until everything had mostly settled before standing, rubbing his chest absently until the fierce ache subsided. Oh yes. In four or five megacycles he was going to regret doing that. But since he already had an escape route planned to his nearest bolt-hole, he was sure he could handle himself until he got there. And then it wouldn't matter, until the consequences had run their course.

"You ready?" Speck asked, tapping on the door. Jazz shoved the remains of his chemistry session into one of the stash holes and sealed it before standing and heading to the door, his posture relaxed and his smile sure.

"Let's get this party started."


	8. Chapter 8

At first the noise from the very large crowd crammed into the top floor of the club caused Prowl's audios to shut off in protest, even from where he was on the first floor. The owner of the club was pushing his way through the decent crowd on this floor to Prowl's side, a perplexed expression on his face. Prowl currently couldn't decide if the bulky mech was worried about his presence or about the building comping apart from the sheer volume of whatever was going on above them.

"My office!" He shouted into Prowl's audio, to which Prowl nodded, sighing in relief when the noise was mostly blocked by the closing of the office door. "All of the proper permits have been paid for, I assure you, and there is nothing--"

"I am sure," Prowl interrupted. "I am not here for an inspection or about any complaints that may or may not be coming from your neighbors due to the...ruckus...upstairs. I am here looking for one mech."

"I have many customers tonight," the mech said with a pleased smile. "I do not know..." he trailed off when Prowl slid a pad with Jazz's picture on it across the desk, his expression falling. "Ah. He is currently upstairs."

"You are sure?" Prowl asked, studying the mech's face. From his expression, he was telling the truth.

"Yes, I am sure. Can this be taken care of another time? Later in the evening, perhaps? Tomorrow?" The pad was delicately slid back toward Prowl, who subspaced it, tipping the credit chip which had appeared over Jazz's picture onto the desk without touching it.

"No."

"I had heard this about you," the club owner said with a sigh, rising. "It is--"

A sudden explosion from overhead caused him to duck, optics wide. Prowl was at the door in an instant, pulling it open to behold pandemonium, but a different kind than before. Mechs and femms alike were screeching, doing their best to get out the door as quickly as they could. Over the noise Prowl heard continuing gunshots from over head. He turned back to the club owner. "Is there another way up?"

The mech, who had his hands over his head, nodded quickly and pointed toward another door from his office. "Quickly before they destroy my club!"

"You had better hope no one gets killed because you do not have adequate safety exits," Prowl tossed over his shoulder, mounting the stairs three at a time to reach the top floor of the building.

A black hand reached up and grabbed Prowl by the collar of his armor, dragging him behind the stage. He raised his optics to behold Jazz leaning against the wall, just before the agent reached around him with a gun to drive another mech across the room back under cover with three shots from his pistol.

"Hi," he said conversationally. "What brings you up here? Ain't exactly your type of digs, from what I hear."

Prowl gaped at the other mech's casual manner, ducking when two blasts splashed against the back of the stage, the metal flashing red from the heat of the lasers. "Hello," he managed, still gathering his thoughts. "I was looking for you. Ratchet insisted."

"Oh, wow," Jazz said, grinning. "That makes complete sense. Sorry for thinkin' Axle'd gotten ya."

"Obviously he has not." Prowl paused, frowning as he watched, in a brief ceasefire, Jazz's hands begin to shake and his visor go slightly pale. "Have you been hit?"

The agent shook his head, settling into a crouch and letting his visor go dark briefly. "I'm comin' down from a mad batch of chemistry. Brewed it myself so I can tell ya what was in it and the brig time which each chem warrants, though I'm sure you know that already."

"Jazz--" Prowl started, the disapproving frown already on his face. Before he could continue Jazz grabbed him by the collar of his armor again and dragged him down, three shots which should have gone through Prowl's helm creating holes in the wall behind them. Shrapnel pattered down, pinging quietly off their armor.

"Shoot now, scold later," the agent said quickly, poking his head around the corner and jerking it back when the action prompted a barrage of laser fire. He didn't seem to be concerned about this, however, as he checked his gun for how many shots he had left. "Oh, great, battery's fried," he muttered before glancing up at Prowl. "Don't suppose you've gotta gun."

"I do--"

"Well, give it here!"

"I am not entirely sure if I feel comfortable with you holding an acid rifle in your current state," Prowl told him, even as he handed the gun over.

The black and white visored mech stared at the weapon for a few moments. "Why didn't you _tell_ me you had one of these? This solves everything!"

"Everything?" Prowl repeated, bewildered, watching Jazz dismantle his own gun and use one of the acid pellets in Prowl's to melt a few of the controls. He also got some of the acid on his hand but didn't seem to notice while he carefully welded his gun back up.

"Everything," Jazz confirmed, examining what was left of his pistol carefully. Moments later he poked his head around the corner again, used Prowl's rifle with his left hand to send his attackers scurrying for cover while he pulled the trigger on his own pistol with his right hand and hurled it between the other mechs. "Now we run," he told Prowl with a grin, shoving his rifle back into his hands and hauling him through a door Prowl hadn't seen previously.

"Where are we--"

"No time," Jazz said, pounding down stairs so fast Prowl just about tripped over his own feet, forced to concentrate more on where he was stepping then interrogating the other mech on where they were going. "No time no time no time no time," Jazz continued to mutter, his hand tugging Prowl along with him insistently.

"What did you--"

"Bomb," the agent said, pausing when they hit the street to look both ways before bolting down a nearby alley and dropping into a crouch to pull up a maintenance hatch. The word caused Prowl's optics to widen sharply and he stopped objecting, sliding down into the darkness, Jazz right behind him. They both ducked instinctively when the blast sounded from overhead, Jazz shoving Prowl farther down the tunnel when a loud crash made the hatch cover bow in sharply.

Blue optics struck the dark-edged pale visor and the very dim light revealed part of a sheepish smile below the visor. "Oops."

"I think you just destroyed that building," Prowl told him softly, optics still wide.

"I think I just destroyed the top floor," Jazz whispered back. "I hope. That little gun didn't have enough juice left to make the whole place come down unless it tapped somethin' bigger one of Axle's mechs had on 'em."

"You," Prowl began, one hand on his head, his processor whirling, "are utterly _insane_. I have no idea why I agreed-- That building-- And you just--"

"Thanks for savin' my life."

The tactician shifted his gaze to Jazz, startled once again. "What?"

"If you hadn't come right then I'd probably've fallen for the flankin' maneuver they were beginnin' to pull." The slightly smaller mech scrubbed his face, leaning on the tunnel wall. "Havin' you there focused me...forced me t'think instead of just gettin' caught up in the fun of it."

"You are bizarre," Prowl sighed, moving over to pull one of Jazz's arms over his shoulders. "Qualifying a situation like that as fun. I do not believe I have had _less_ fun in my life."

"Situations like that _are_ my life," Jazz told him, leaning against him heavily. His visor finally lit, even if it was dimly. "That way," he gestured with a shaking hand. "We need t'get outta here."

"I don't think any of your attackers survived the blast in any condition to follow us," Prowl told him, helping him walk.

"They didn't need to," the agent replied, a grimace beginning to show on his features. "All they needed to do was send a message that we escaped. An' there was more than enough time for that before the gun went off. Axle's got groups spread through the city an' surroundin' landscape."

"What we need to concentrate on at the moment is getting you to a medical center--"

"No," Jazz objected, "no. No, he'll be watchin' 'em. All of 'em around, within' drivin' distance. He'll do the same t' them as I did t'the club if he sees me there."

"I'm beginning to realize you're right about him," Prowl murmured, "but since you are, who can we trust? Do you know who has been taken to his side and who is still on ours?"

The agent shook his head once, to Prowl's dismay. "Don't know. Don't know who he's got, who he pretends to have got or who's solid." He grinned, even if the expression had more grimace in it than cheer. "I was wrong 'bout you. Could be wrong 'bout others. Who knows? Jazz don't. Jazz is a solo break."

Becoming increasingly worried about the agent's mental state, Prowl shook him slightly, quickening their pace. "What does that mean? Stay with me, Jazz."

"Ain't leavin'. I can't. You've got my arm there."

"I know I do." The black and white tactician frowned sharply. "Jazz, you keep drifting off. I need you to stay awake. Stay coherent. What did you mean by 'solo break?'"

"Music. Solo break. Jazz term. When a jazz player plays alone. Blaster doesn't like it when Jazz goes on a solo break. He wants it to be a soli."

Though he never stopped moving, Prowl had no idea where to take the rapidly declining Jazz. "What is a soli?" He asked, to keep the agent talking.

"Group effort," Jazz murmured, stumbling. "Tired."

"I know you are," Prowl sighed, shaking his head slightly. "Tell me where you can rest."

Jazz lifted his head, his gaze finally coherent. "...the place I've been avoidin' since I bolted the med bay. Forte's."

"Take me there."

Jazz stopped short and stood straight, pulling his arm from around Prowl's shoulders. He gave the tactician such a fierce look Prowl found himself wanting to step back, even when he refused to drop his own gaze. "If you hurt him," Jazz said lowly, "I _will_ kill you."

"Understood," Prowl agreed seriously with a slow nod. Though from his readings Jazz was about to fall over, Prowl was entirely convinced, both from what he had seen the solar before and what he had just witnessed, this mech could make good on the threat-- and would.


	9. Chapter 9

"Are you sure you know where you are going?" Prowl asked after what his chronometer told him had been a mega cycle of walking. In the dark it had seemed much, much longer.

Jazz turned his head slightly toward the tactician, never pausing in his steady plod. After almost falling flat on his face earlier he had mixed silicon into energon of unknown grade until it stopped dissolving, a practice Prowl hadn't entirely approved of, but it had rendered the agent far more coherent...so far. "Does it matter?"

"Yes," Prowl replied steadily, doing his best not to let Jazz's apparent lapse back into insanity grit up his gears. "You are the only one present who knows the location of our destination."

"Uh huh," Jazz agreed absently, returning his gaze to the dark before them.

"So you do know where we are," Prowl murmured in relief.

"I didn't say _that_ ," Jazz objected with a chuckle.

Prowl could feel his relays beginning to overheat. "How do you know where we are going if you do not know where we are?"

"Very good question," Jazz said, still walking. "Are you lost?"

"Yes," Prowl admitted shortly. "I very much doubt I could find where we came down here, much less--"

"Good." The agent finally stopped walking and turned to the wall. "Now we can arrive."

"Have we been walking in circles?"

"Circles're borin'," Jazz murmured, sliding his fingertips along the wall. Abruptly he drew back, looking at the wall more closely, then examining his fingers with a frown. "Now when did that happen?"

"Some of the acid from the pellet you used to make that bomb out of your pistol got on your fingers," Prowl told him, "you did not seem to care at the time."

"Why didn't you tell me to wipe it off?" Jazz asked, frowning.

"We were being shot at, if you do not remember. I was a touch preoccupied by not getting damaged."

The agent looked up, giving Prowl a disapproving look. "Bein' all snappy ain't gonna help right now," he rebuked. "Seriously, clean the grit from your gears. Be flexible. I thought all tacticians knew battle plans're useless five clicks into the first engagement."

"While that is true," Prowl admitted, "this is hardly a normal--"

"Why do mechs even use that word? Ain't anythin' been 'normal' for vorn." Jazz had turned back to the wall, using his undamaged hand only this time, tools Prowl thought more bleonged to an engineer or medic folding from the agent's fingers and wrists. The slender metal strips proved to be razor sharp as they sliced a square from the wall, reavealing a series of wires. Interest caught and intent on the splicing the tools were flying through, Prowl at first thought the voice-echoes he was hearing were coming from Jazz. The agent's lips were moving, which only added to the illusion-- until Jazz's head lifted sharply and he froze.

"Are they looking for us?" Prowl asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Dunno." Jazz's voice was just as soft. He got back to work, expression grim.

Prowl turned, looking into the dark in the direction he thought the voices were coming in for almost a breem while the voices grew louder but no clearer. He couldn't make out any words or even tell if he was correct in assuming the direction they were coming from. Glancing behind him to both check on Jazz's progress and to see if he had been wrong, he jerked around in disbelief at the sight his optics were feeding him; he was alone. Jazz had vanished without a trace, not even leaving the patch of wall he had been working on behind; the wall was just as seamless before he had cut the panel out.

"Jazz!" He hissed, unable to believe the agent had simply disappeared.

"Up here."

The tactician's gaze shot upward to see Jazz offering him a hand from a black square in the tunnel's ceiling. "How did you get up there?" He demanded, though still in the whisper.

"Jumped. Hurry."

Taking a deep breath to settle his circuits, Prowl motioned Jazz to the side, watching as the agent disappeared once again. He crouched and leapt, catching the edges of the square and hoisting himself up, sitting on one side before hoisting his legs clear. As soon as they were Jazz slid a block of metal into place and with a slight click, the now-floor was seamless once again.

"That'll slow 'em down for a while," Jazz muttered, getting unsteadily to his feet.

"How much longer can you go on?" Prowl asked quietly, moving over to brace him once again.

"As long as I gotta," Jazz replied. "Don't got the option of fallin' down, so I won't."

"That does not make any kind of logical sense," Prowl told him with a sigh, drawing his arm over his shoulder again.

"Sure it does," Jazz said, starting to walk at a faster pace than Prowl had expected he would be able to. "Once it's safe, I'll fall over. Probably into stasis lock, just so you know. But until then I gotta keep movin', so I won't."

"You have that much control over your systems?"

"Doesn't everyone?" Jazz asked, glancing at him.

Prowl shook his head. "Not even remotely."

"Oh." Jazz fell quiet, expression thoughtful, then grinned. "Guess I'm just special, then. Hey, if we walked into Hightown right now, you think I'd attract any attention with the condition of my paint?"

Prowl's processor just about restarted with the abrupt change of subject. "I haven't the faintest. I haven't been able to see anything but your face for a good while."

"Well, nothin' t'do about it now," Jazz sighed, reaching out to push a door to his left open. Once his optics had recovered from the sudden assault of light, Prowl realized that they were indeed in Hightown, walking out the back door of one of the expensive boutiques so favored by those who lived in the posh neighborhood.

"How...?" He asked, looking around still. Jazz kept walking, expression determined.

"Do I really gotta reply to that?" Jazz asked right back, heading for a home which was slightly more worn than the rest. Prowl hurried after him, coming up the stairs just as the door was opening to greet them.

"Come inside, hurry." The voice was hoarse and worn but fell as pleasantly on Prowl's audios as Jazz's did. It had the same melodic quality. The mech it belonged to was of a generation long gone, the weathering of his face hinting at his great age, even as his movements spoke of a body much younger than his spark.

The door closed behind Prowl, cutting off all noise from the outside and revealing the soft conversation Jazz and the other mech were having.

"I'm sorry--"

"No need, here, lay down--"

"Ratchet's gonna kill me--"

"He's a medic and he's fond of you. Besides, there will be no killing of friends under my roof, no matter how angry you've made him this time--"

"Knocked the twins out 'n ran from the med center 'fore he was finished repairin' me."

That silenced the elder mech, his expression going wry. "Then I believe you have the right to fear his reaction. Now, before you pass out, who is your friend?"

"Prowl. He's a tactician. He's kinda smart..."

The mech shook his head. "Rest, Jazz."


	10. Chapter 10

Waking a bit confused was not an uncommon occurrence for Jazz. Typically, however, he woke with said confusion in the med bay, on his berth or on the floor of his quarters, with Wheeljack, the engineer he had been assigned to be room-mates with, shaking his shoulder worriedly. Here, though...here smelled clean, sounded peaceful and all that added up to an answer which he really didn't want at the moment. He had always, before, been able to stop himself from homing to Forte's. He didn't want to endanger his adopted creator with those he knew wanted to hurt him-- including Axle.

One thing did surprise him when he sat up; he didn't hurt. Okay, there was the slight ache of mostly-settled welds in his chest and on his fingers but he distinctly remembered feeling very bad when he last had a coherent memory clip.

"Hey!"

Jazz jerked, his gaze instantly finding a small figure in the door. Once he had identified the owner of the voice, he relaxed, swinging his legs over the side of the berth with a chuckle. "Minibot, what did I say 'bout startlin' me?"

"Not to. I wasn't heying you, though. I was heying--"

"Me." That smooth and lightly disapproving voice could only belong to Prowl. "How are you feeling?"

"Surprisingly good," Jazz admitted, pushing to his feet and just as surprised when he could keep them as he was when no one stopped him.

"Ratchet informed me that the only good thing you did for yourself while we were running for our lives was continue to have high amounts of silicon," Prowl told him, making a gesture to Rewind before stepping into the room. The minibot quickly disappeared. "It kept the chemicals you imbibed and the damage you received after you left the med bay from killing you."

"How long was I out?" Jazz inquired, stretching carefully. "Good Primus, Ratchet's improved. I don't hurt anywhere."

"That is because Ratchet was not the only one working on you, move lisico, Jazz."

Jazz felt his circuits relax in a way he never was able to unless he heard that particular voice in this particular setting. "Forte," he sighed, smiling. "I am. Honest. Did I trouble your door?"

"Not in the slightest," Forte replied, slipping into the room past Prowl and handing Jazz a container of mid-grade. "Slowly. Gasket was of the opinion that you should not have made it here."

"So was Prowl," Jazz agreed, earning himself a sharp look from the tactician. "Gasket and Prowl don't know Jazz."

"I have learned not to underestimate you," Prowl murmured, injecting himself smoothly into the conversation.

"That is an important lesson, when dealing with him," Forte agreed, shaking his head slightly. " _Slowly_ , Jazz."

Jazz had already finished his mid-grade, glad to find it didn't burn after he swallowed. "My thanks to the CMO and Ratch. Mid-grade is enjoyable again."

"Glad to hear it," Forte said, resting a hand on Jazz's shoulder. "You need to slow down. Gasket insisted, before he took your escape route back to the Autobase. Ratchet was of the opinion you wouldn't listen, but I must insist myself. Your systems are still recovering and you will be narcoleptic for a short measure."

"Gotta walkabout," Jazz said, grimacing. "Gotta find Axle. Prowl's comin', so don't worry. He kept me safe last time."

"You assume I will be coming," Prowl objected. Jazz found himself gazing at the tactician blankly.

"You won't come?" he asked incredulously. "I need someone to keep me awake--"

"Take Blaster," Prowl told him. "I need to find Breaker and you, Jazz, are on medical leave, set there by the CMO. You do not have the luxury of blowing this off."

"Perfect." Jazz smiled on seeing Prowl's stunned expression. The smile faded slightly when he turned to Forte, raising a hand to rest it over the elder mech's hand on his shoulder. "With me on medical leave Axle will be looking here, my quarters, the med bay. Leave."

"No. Even he would not attack a civilian, particularly one in Hightown. I am safe, for now. Are you going to prove Ratchet correct?"

"Yes," Jazz murmured, "Axle is my strike. I need to flux him."

"I will never understand your street slang," Forte sighed, though he was smiling slightly. "The only requirement I have from you is that you return."

"I swear it," the young mech told him, meaning it with all his spark. "I will. This is boiling. I forced his hand. He's in panic and his timeline has been shoved. If I let him deflate he'll burrow deeper."

"That even I understood," Prowl said with a sigh. "And I agree. Too much time has already passed. Ironhide is waiting for us in the Autobase, Jazz, we will leave by the back way."

***

"Was wonderin' when you sparklings were gonna show up."

Ironhide's familiar drawl attached a slight smile to Jazz's face, even as he pulled himself out of the tunnel and into the security mech's office. "I had a smidge of damage," he couldn't help but reply, "it needed a touch-up."

"I've seen what you call a smidge of damage," Ironhide told him, reaching down to assist Prowl's ascent from the tunnel. "Anyone else would call it nearly fatal. You, Jazz--"

"That's right, I'm Jazz," Jazz chortled, grinning at the older mech's resigned expression.

"We need to focus on the task at hand," Prowl reminded them after settling the floor panel back in place. "Which is locating Axle and Breaker and getting them into custody, then finding some way to convince them to tell us who is corrupted in the ranks."

"Seems simple enough," Ironhide agreed, "until we take into account th' fact that nothin' is stoppin' either of them from fingerin' innocent mechs."

"We must have some plan of action," Prowl insisted, "we can not simply rush out and expect to have things fall neatly into place."

Looking back and forth between Ironhide and Prowl and noting they were mostly focused on each other, Jazz took two quiet steps back. He turned to the video surveillance once he was out of their direct line of sight, using the fact that Ironhide was logged in to get to video he otherwise wouldn't have access to. One of the feeds that he was particularly interested in was still, even to Ironhide, blocked with a tag Jazz knew instantly to be of Axle's work. The genius of it was in the block itself; by reading it, which most security personnel would to find out who had set it and why, they would be reading a subliminal program. The program tricked their processor into accepting the block unconditionally and was reinforced every time the mech read the block again, or a similar one.

Jazz, knowing better, ducked under the console and pried open a panel, carefully preserving the trip-wire which was supposed to break and activate an alarm when the panel was opened without the key by carefully sliding a flat knife into the solder keeping the wire in place on the panel and gently loosening it. The near-silent tap of the panel on the floor when he set it aside was met with silence, something he hadn't expected. The agent scooted out a bit and met the confused and exasperated expressions of Ironhide and Prowl with a grin. "Hi. Keep talkin', I'm listenin', honest."

"Perhaps," Prowl said, "but what are you _doing_?"

"Don't read the screen," Jazz told them both, scooting back under the console. "Not until I rewire this. There's a subliminal program in the message."

The tactician immediately took a step forward, optics fixed on the screen, only to be met with Jazz's foot resting gently on his torso. He looked down, then at Jazz, frowning. "Let me--"

"No. I said _don't_. You can when I'm finished."

"Might be a good idea to listen to him," Ironhide said, also frowning. "I've seen that same security warnin' elsewhere, though I...can't remember where."

"Exactly," Jazz muttered, concentrating on wiring a codebox into the console even as he kept his foot on Prowl's torso. "It's designed t' make ya move on an' forget about it. It's a nothin'-to-see bug. An' I..." he dropped his foot and slid out from under the console, tapping a few keys before nodding with a satisfied smirk. "Want to see what Axle's hidin'."

"How many of the nothing-to-see bugs are there?" Ironhide asked, fixing Jazz with a sharp frown. "An' how come you didn't mention this before now?"

"'Cause I didn't know who was where on the board," Jazz told him, sliding around the security warning as if it weren't there. "An' I dunno. But this console won't be affected by 'em anymore. Just don't trip the alarm wire. It'll disable the codebox."

"You an' me're gonna have a long talk later," Ironhide murmured, watching as Jazz's fingers flew across the keyboard and pulled up the monitoring cameras in Axle, Breaker and half a dozen other officer's offices.

"Uh huh," Jazz agreed vaguely. Out of the corner of his visor he saw a slight smirk on Prowl's face which was gone when he glanced over completely. The tactician evidently remembered when he had been met with the same vague acceptance from Jazz. "Looks like Axle's in his office."

"I had security mechs check there--" Prowl stopped, locking gazes with Ironhide. "We need to rework how we have been operating. From now on, we use only whom we know by name and trust."

"Twins," Jazz said immediately. "Bluestreak. Mirage, Hound. Wheeljack. Wreckers."

"All of them?" Prowl asked, jotting the names down on a pad, which Jazz promptly pulled out of his hands and cleared.

"No notes," he said, handing the pad back. "No trail. Nothin' Axle could get a hold of and try to corrupt. Twins'n Hound won't corrupt. Mirage is in flux, Blue's skatter-shower."

"Will you speak base Cybertronian?" Prowl asked, his movements reluctant when he put the pad away.

"Sure," Jazz agreed, grinning as he dropped into a nearby chair. "Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Wheeljack and Hound are solid Autobots. They know what's what. Mirage is still shaky from what he's been through and though he tries, Axle knows him as well as I do. He can use that knowledge to force Mirage to do something he wouldn't normally do. Bluestreak is in shock still. Apply the right kind of pressure and the mech will snap and be an open pad for anyone to read. The sparklet's a friend of mine but it's true."

"Never liked that we couldn't help him more than we did," Ironhide sighed, shaking his head. "An' I agree; the Wreckers are good mechs. Springer and Kup wouldn't let any sharkticons into their mix."

"You two decide who you trust," Jazz told them, heading for the door. "I need to check out Axle's office."


	11. Chapter 11

"Can I trust you?" Jazz asked, leaning against the tunnel wall. One spent a lot of time in tunnels when one was attempting to plan a surprise for someone, good or bad. The back of his mind wondered when he had last been able to plan a good surprise for someone, but he pushed it away to focus on the brothers before him.

Deep Cover was giving him a bored look. "Absolutely not," Clampdown told him stoically. "We've been flipped good'n proper, right?"

"Yep." Deep Cover's smile was slow and mean, but Jazz knew it was all for show.

As was the call and answer of the conversation. "Breaker's in the wind," Jazz told them. "Long gone. Sentinel took a few mechs to go chase down a recent report of Megatron, all we can do is hope they'll catch up with Breaker and bring him back but he don't know how deep the corruption has spread."

"We heard the green light on Prowl's super," Deep Cover said, handing Jazz a pad, "from the other side. They figure he'll flip if put under pressure. These mechs've been lit too."

"Good to know," Jazz murmured, recording the information before blanking the pad. "I'll find out if it's because they're on our side or theirs."

"We found Axle," Clampdown reported, "but can't find Ironhide, now."

"He can take care of himself. Where's Axle?"

"Still on the Autobase," Clampdown said, shaking his head. "Still giving orders. Arrogant fragger."

"Good." Jazz offered both mechs a grin. "Thanks for the assist, go get some rest, I'll take things from here."

"You're long odds, Jazz," Deep Cover told him, expression serious. "Don't let us down."

"There're bets?" Jazz asked, amused. "They don't think I'm gonna pull an assassin move?"

"You're too flashy, is the word." Deep Cover shrugged. "Whispers are that you need the spotlight and it'll be your downfall. Axle's expecting a callout."

"He is, is he? What did he tell you?"

Both mechs gave him a startled look before Deep Cover sighed. "To bring you out into the open, exhausted, damaged or smashed up on some kind of chemistry, even if it was just high grade."

"How'd you know?" Clampdown asked, frowning. "We don't belong to him, Jazz."

"I know." The black and white mech fell quiet, expression thoughtful. "He'll have his show," he told them. "I'll be crossing commons at solar's end. I'm still damaged and mixing my own batches to stay awake. Orange."

"How orange?" Deep Cover asked curiously. "I've seen pale--"

"Neon." Jazz flashed a grin. "If he wants proof just go ask Speck. If his club is still there, my chem is still in the third hiding place in the actor's room."

"Tonight, solar's end," Clampdown repeated. "We'll tell him. Meister's luck to you."

"Style begets luck," Jazz chuckled. He didn't mention that he was the legendary, among agent circles, Meister. "An' nothin' is worth doin' if you ain't got style."

***

Solar's end came as Jazz knew it would, with the desertion of the cross through between the offices and the barracks of the Autobase. It was what was called the commons because it was the one place where officers and soldiers mixed without consequence. Everyone was off duty here. Once certain lines were crossed, the entry into the living quarters, the doorway to the Medical Center, the subtle line of crystals which marked Officer Territory, the entrance to the engineering and science labs, the gate to the training ground, then rank mattered. The pentagon was floored with steel, as was the rest of the Autobase, but of a different color and texture; ages of foot-traffic had created subtle paths and worn grooves which the casual optic couldn't detect but the feet felt when one was crossed.

He was waiting, tracing one of these paths with a foot in an idle and off-balance gesture, carefully presenting in appearance, action and to any sensors which might brush his form, that he was in no shape for any kind of sustained fight. Deeper sensors would be pushed aside by his unique armor, as always. He had never felt anything but the barest of touches from Axle's sensors previously, almost like the older and larger mech felt sullied by Jazz's presence.

A single whispering echo of movement was all the warning he received before the hand landed on his shoulder. His movements were just the slightest bit jerky and hesitant to complete the veneer of ill repair; he wheeled to dip out from under the hand, his gaze met Axle's sympathetic one. "Jazz," he murmured, hand still outstretched in a gesture of concern, "what are you doing? Why have you created this mess? If you desired my position, you should have come to me."

"You know that ain't what this's about," Jazz shot back, allowing himself to stumble slightly after moving one foot in an attempt to get more balance. "You're flipped, Axle. Stand down."

"Whatever programming they put in your processor to make you think that, we can help. Just come with me." The hand was still outstretched.

"That was you who put me in the hole, damaged, leakin' out!" Jazz accused, watching Axle carefully for any move the mech might make. There was always the chance, as well, that something had been staged, that there were assassins in the wings.

"You were delirious, if you had gone to the medics in that condition you would have hurt someone. Take my hand, Jazz, come with me, we'll go to the Medical Center and have Gasket take a look at you."

Hesitantly, Jazz reached to take Axle's hand, simply to see what the older mech would do. "No tricks," he said, making sure his voice was a worn rasp. "Straight to Gasket."

The other mech was fast, grabbing Jazz's wrist and yanking him sharply close, a shock of pain biting into Jazz's torso when Axle's gun fired. Jazz reached up and buried his hand in the collar of Axle's armor then let himself collapse, pulling both of them to the ground, Axle on top of Jazz. "Fragger," Axle hissed. "Abomination. Do something right and die quietly!"

Jazz laughed in his face, shoving a blade through Axle's gun and into his hand, spilling mechfluid over them both as Axle rolled away. Springing into a momentary crouch Jazz dove forward and rolled head-over-heels, ducking under the swipe aimed for his chest. Coming to his feet he wheeled, tossing what looked like nothing more than a puff of glitter directly into Axle's path.

Axle reflexively inhaled sharply but ignored the act when nothing immediate happened. He drew back and began to circle, forcing Jazz to do the same to keep him from getting behind him. The section of ground they were on was conveniently flat, rarely tread by those heading here or there. They were silent, feinting to check the other's reflexes and focus, Axle drawing the fight out as long as he could to take advantage of the one fact he obviously hadn't double-checked; Jazz's supposed flogging endurance.

Content to wait until Axle decided he was sufficiently worn down, Jazz allowed a third of his sensors to cross the commons to see who had arrived. A myriad of mechs, both his and Axle's, commingling freely. Hoping to prompt Axle to move Jazz sent a message to Prowl; _Deep Cover and Clampdown know both sides. Find them, start arresting mechs now._

Prowl's reply was lost when Axle darted forward, grabbing Jazz by the shoulders and spinning to throw him off his feet. Ready for the move, Jazz grabbed Axle right back and brought him down using his own momentum, tangling his feet in to keep the taller mech from catching them again. They crashed to the ground, weapons skittering away thanks to the smooth surface and liberal coating of mechfluid. Neither position held any more advantage over the other; bodies pressed together left both mechs vulnerable to knives and poisons.

They rolled apart, Jazz twisting to one side to again avoid a swipe at his upper torso in a move that was as much dance as self defense. It gave the arm closer to Axle momentum to swing into his side, catching low and thrusting upward. The cleave was deep, from hip curving around to the back of Axle's shoulder as the mech had attempted to get free. While horrendous, the blow was not deadly and Axle drew another gun to again shove into Jazz's torso.

Jazz's free hand came around and grabbed the barrel of the weapon, shoving it into empty space before it went off. Acid splashed against the ground, the hiss loud in the silent space. "You are good," Jazz grunted, leaving his knife where it was to reach around and grab Axle's chin. "But you're runnin' on old programmin'.

"What are you--"

"You're beat." With that, Jazz pulled and the light fled Axle's optics as the delicate circuitry in his neck was suddenly divorced from any power supply, thanks to the buildup of the crystal powder Jazz had tossed at him earlier. He slumped to the ground, Jazz casting him away with a shudder.

"Jazz!"

Slightly startled, Jazz whirled but straightened when it registered that it had been Ironhide, now crossing the commons with a large red and blue mech Jazz had never seen before following just behind. "Heya. You dropped off the map--"

"I had somethin' I needed t'do. What's all this?"

"Somethin' I needed t'do. As you can see," Jazz gestured to the blast mark on his torso, "he attacked me first. Hi."

The last was meant for Prowl, who had come quickly to join the small cluster of mechs. The tactician's gaze flicked between Axle and Jazz, optics wide. "Hello. Was that necessary?"

"Which part?"

"The part where it was very public." Prowl paused, obviously gathering his thoughts. "And the killing."

"He tried t'kill me," Jazz replied, again gesturing to the blast mark on his side. "See? And he shot first. Self-defense. The public bit was for witnesses."

"'Parently Axle is no longer a problem," Ironhide said, turning to the large mech at his side.

The masked mech nodded, regarding the mechs standing before him with a grave air. Jazz, however, noticed a very slight flicker of amusement in his gaze. "That's good. Perhaps now we can concentrate on rebuilding and fighting the real threat."

"Who're you?" Jazz challenged, looking up at the mech. He noticed that though he had never met this mech before, there was something about him that set him at ease.

"I am Optimus Prime."

"Really?" Noticing Prowl's floored expression and Ironhide's smirk, Jazz gave Optimus a speculative look. "What's your take on all this?"

"From what Ironhide explained, it is an unfortunate yet partly expected outcome and more favorable than the alternative." Optimus regarded the small black and white visored mech quietly, waiting for his reaction.

Looking down at the lifeless form at his feet, Jazz nodded, then stepped over Axle to hold a hand out to Optimus. "Apparently Sentinel is no longer a problem, either. Nice t'meet'cha. They call me Jazz."


End file.
